


Ithaca

by missmungoe



Series: Shanties for the Weary Voyager [20]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant (Ish), F/M, Loving Marriage, Post-Reverie, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: She owns a bar in a tiny village on a quiet sea. It’s not often she gets visitors, but the changing world has brought many an odd tide to her shores.And yet two former Warlords on the lam were the last people Makino expected to show up on her doorstep.
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Makino
Series: Shanties for the Weary Voyager [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/581281
Comments: 32
Kudos: 164





	Ithaca

**Author's Note:**

> Oda said that 2021 is the year the man with the red hair will make his move, and so I am understandably excited (and a little worried), but in an effort to be prepared for anything, here's a little self-indulgent wish-fulfilment (pre-emptive fix-it) fic.
> 
> Set shortly after the Reverie/during the current Wano arc.

The thing about being a tavern owner in a remote port is that you get used to a certain kind of predictability. The sun rises and sets, patrons come and go, shipments are ordered and delivered, rinse and repeat ad nauseam.

But the thing is, she’d _liked_ the routine, and the predictability; the knowledge that she knew what to expect with every sunrise, and that the sea beyond the docks would stay the same. But the Reverie had changed that, and Makino no longer knew what to expect when the sun rose, and the tide brought news from the world beyond the horizon. And she could do nothing about the sun or the tide, or the world at large; all she could do was bide her time and wait, although where it had once been easy to accept the futility of her position by virtue of her, well, _uselessness_ , the fact that she could do nothing was feeling less like a crutch and more like shackles, every day the newspaper arrived and she braced herself for what it would say.

This day began as it normally did. She was up before the sun, and she’d always been an early bird but her infant son proved a challenge even for her, but her new irregular hours were a small inconvenience compared to the happiness he filled her life with, which was never quiet anymore.

“Hey, little captain,” she greeted, hoisting him into her arms as she pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek, which had his cries yielding a bubbling laugh. He was so easy to cheer; Makino sometimes thought he’d barely stopped smiling since he’d learned how.

He was also getting bigger, old enough to sit up and crawl, and it was all happening a little too fast, this growing-up he was doing, although she suspected it might have something to do with the fact that every day he did something new also brought the knowledge that Shanks was missing it.

A tug at her kerchief nearly pulled it from her hair, but she stole his hand before he could complete the theft, and kissed his chubby little fingers as he shrieked with laughter. “You’re not getting this one,” she said, as she tucked her hair back into it, and hoisting him on her hip saw him reaching for it again. “I only have a few left.” Where the others had found their way, she could wager a guess, although where her husband’s theft of her belongings usually made her smile, Makino found it faltering on her mouth.

It was going to be one of those days, then. But she had weathered worse storms, and could endure a hard day, even if it had been so long since she'd had a good one, Makino couldn't remember what that felt like.

The sound of the bat-wing doors swinging open in the bar below drew her eyes towards the nursery door, and a frown between her brows.

She wasn’t open yet, and it was still too early for anyone in the village to be up aside from the fishermen checking on their nets, but they all knew her opening hours as well as she did. And it wasn’t often she got visitors from outside the village. There was Garp, occasionally, but he was busy at Headquarters these days (although what exactly ‘semi-retirement’ entailed, Makino didn’t know, and knew better than to ask, knowing the answer would be vague and evasive. He was even less inclined to talk about his work than he had been before she’d gone and married an Emperor, although Makino couldn’t exactly blame him for that).

There’d also been Hawk-Eyes, that one time, and not long after, Sabo had shown up at her doorstep, his partner in tow. And they’d all come as a surprise, and for different reasons, but they’d all been fiercely welcome disruptions to her routines, and the staggering predictability that made the days long and the nights longer, going to sleep in an empty bed and knowing he wouldn’t be there when she woke, no matter how much she wished for it.

And even if she knew better, she never did stop hoping that he’d walk through her doors one day, unannounced, to spirit her away like he’d promised once, and it didn’t matter where, as long as it was with him.

She thought about it a lot, every morning when she woke and every evening before she went to sleep, and maybe that was why her heart was so quick to hope now, even when she knew, logically, that it wouldn’t be him, that she would have sensed it if it was, but still she couldn’t help the quickening in her step as she descended the stairs into the bar, her son on her hip.

But it wasn’t her husband she found on her threshold, or any of the visitors she might have expected.

“Why are we in a bar?”

The one who’d spoken was looking around. He stood at the head of a small group, the captain from his tricorn hat and a pirate going by his outfit, and what had to be his crew; an assortment of characters who briefly made her reconsider her initial assessment.

They looked more like a travelling circus troupe than a pirate crew, and while that might have held her attention captive, it was stolen by a different sight, a face she’d hardly expected to see here again, and least of all in _this_ company, even if he looked curiously at home with his ruffles and dramatic feathered hat. Had she not been so surprised, Makino might have told him.

“Mihawk-san,” she blurted instead; the only thing she could think to say in that moment.

It drew his companion’s attention from where he’d been taking in her bar, first to Makino and then to Hawk-Eyes, before he asked him, “What is this, your girlfriend or something?”

Delighted gasps from the crew behind him, before the collective weight of their gazes bore down on her. Makino almost took a step back.

For his part, Mihawk took it all in stride. “A friend,” he said simply.

His companion eyed him, his nose scrunched up with suspicion. It was big, and quite possibly the reddest she’d ever seen. “You don’t have friends.”

That’s when it clicked.

From the way his expression soured, her gawking hadn’t gone unnoticed. “The hell are you looking at?” Buggy asked.

Makino delicately folded her lips. “Nothing,” she lied, although the pulsing vein in his forehead told her she didn’t succeed.

But instead of calling her out on it, “You said you knew somewhere we could lay low,” Buggy said, the words directed at Mihawk this time. “But could you have picked a more backwater place? I used to live in East Blue and I didn’t even know about this port.” He snorted, and sparing another glance at the bar, “Not that I was missing out.”

Before she could open her mouth to protest, Mihawk cut in, “My own residence is currently under surveillance.” Then to Makino, he explained, “We are, as they say, on the lam.”

She was still catching up, but of course―they’d recently abolished the Warlords, although recognising who they were didn’t make it any easier wrapping her head around the fact that they were _here_ , in her bar. If anything, it only made it harder.

At a loss of what else to say, “Can I get you anything?” she asked, which seemed like the only thing she could offer.

Ace made a noise then, which seemed to alert the people in the room to his presence, and drew Buggy’s gaze towards him, but before he could open his mouth, “We cannot stay long,” Mihawk cut him off.

She was surprised by the flicker of disappointment she felt, but then it had been months since she’d had a whole crew of pirates in her bar. “Oh,” Makino said.

“I will explain on the ship.”

She blinked, and asked just as Buggy did the same, “Ship?”

Unperturbed by their reactions, “We came to collect you,” Mihawk said.

“Wait,” Buggy said. “What?”

Makino said nothing, only held his gaze, a different assessment offered now than on their first meeting, and the sense of unease she’d been carrying around since the newspaper about the Reverie felt suddenly justified in his presence, and now, his reason for coming.

Her heart was curiously calm, for all that it felt ever on the verge of breaking. “Did Shanks ask you?”

Nearly a smile, that ghost of a thing that fleeted over his severe mouth. “No,” Mihawk said, to her surprise, but then, “Consider this an abduction.”

“ _Hold up_ ,” Buggy cut in, stepping physically between them now to assert himself, although all Mihawk did was move his eyes towards him. “First of all, Shanks?”

His head turned towards her, before his eyes went to the baby on her hip, then back to her, and then to Mihawk, his eyes rounding, “Wait―”

“It is a matter of some urgency,” Mihawk said, the remark bypassing Buggy’s choke of outrage at being sidelined as he told Makino, “Your husband is about to do something reckless.”

Her heart, which had jumped at the mention of him, fell just as quickly. “What?”

Buggy rounded on him, although his surprise had a different reason. “ _What_?”

Mihawk’s expression remained untouched. “As I said, an explanation is due once we are underway, but I trust he’s kept you informed.”

Her mouth firmed. “Of some of it.” But clearly not all, if he was here now.

 _Fool man_ , she thought fiercely, although wasn’t sure if what she felt was anger or fear. _What are you planning?_

“Will someone explain what the hell is going on!?”

Ignoring him, Makino looked at Mihawk. And just a few months ago, she would have hesitated, afraid of leaving the only home she’d ever known, and the days she could predict down to the smallest detail. But she’d grown weary of that predictability, which included the certainty that she wouldn’t be seeing his sails on the horizon for a long while yet, and harder still―the fear that she never would, which had slowly started to cement itself as fact.

But here was something she couldn’t have predicted, and she had no idea what accepting it would mean, for her or for her life, except one thing, which felt suddenly so much closer than it had, just that morning when she’d woken up on his side of the bed.

And so, “Okay,” she said, and before he could react, handed the baby over to Buggy, who was nearest, and who wasn’t given the chance to protest before she’d turned for the Den Den Mushi behind the counter, ignoring his voice where it called after her.

“Just let me cancel next month’s shipment first.”

―

For his part, Buggy turned out to be exactly as Shanks had described him.

“ _Wife_?”

Down to his staggering lack of tact.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Makino huffed, although her annoyance barely seemed to faze him where he peered down at her. He was almost as tall as Shanks was.

“I’m just finding this a little hard to believe,” he said, cocking his head, as though inspecting some oddity he’d found in a chest somewhere. “You’re not exactly his type.”

She bit back her immediate retort, because she really didn't want him to elaborate on what he meant by that.

They were standing on the quay as they prepared his ship for departure. Mihawk had already gone aboard, but Makino had needed another moment to say goodbye. That was, until Buggy had decided that this was the moment to have this particular conversation. He’d done a bigger number on her patience in ten minutes than anyone she’d ever met.

Her irritation had to be visible now, because he suddenly backtracked, “I mean, you’re f-fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “That is, you’re all―”

Makino stared.

“― _eyes_ ,” he blurted.

“All _eyes_?”

“I just meant―they’re big.” Righting his shoulders, he said, awkwardly although with the weight of a matter settled, “It's weird.”

“ _Weird_?”

He flattened his hand, his palm hovering over her head. “You’re also short,” he said, as Makino gaped. “And…” He made a suggestive gesture with his hands that had her brows jumping.

She couldn’t help how shrill her voice sounded. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I just meant that you’re―” He gestured vaguely in the direction of her chest, and when she fixed him with a look, said, “What’s the opposite of busty?”

From the ship above, several gasps sounded, drawing their eyes to his crew where they were unashamedly observing them over the railing, having apparently forgotten that they were supposed to be readying the ship.

“ _Captain_ ,” chided a voice, to murmurs of agreement.

“It’s not like there’s anything wrong with her!” Buggy snapped. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know pint-sized women were his thing, at least judging by what I saw him going for back then. And what are you standing around for? Back to your stations!”

“Don’t mind him, Makino-san, you’re beautiful!”

“Captain just doesn’t know how to say it!”

“You’re totally his type!”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The shriek chased them laughing back their preparations, as Buggy turned to look at her, although his glare faltered at the sight of hers. “What?” he snapped, as he shifted his weight, as though to make himself seem taller, which wasn’t really necessary.

Her smile flattened, as Makino said, primly mutinous, “The South Pole is colder.”

Before he could choke out a protest, she’d turned and stalked down the quay towards the gangway.

Dadan was there, holding her son and pointing at the seagulls grooming on the yards. It had taken surprisingly little explaining to get her on board with letting her leave, but then Makino wasn’t the only one wary about the current state of the world. The most recent newspaper was still fresh in all their minds.

But she wasn’t shy about making her impression of her chaperones clear, one in particular, and turning her head towards her as Makino came up the quay, “Want me to push him in the water?” she asked.

Makino allowed the offer to sit a moment before answering, “He’s a devil fruit user.”

Dadan didn’t hesitate. “Exactly.”

The laugh that bubbled up from her chest was helpless, and she wasn’t quick enough to wipe away the tears that sprang to her eyes, but then it was starting to sink in now, looking up at Buggy's ship and realising that for the very first time, she would be the one leaving.

“Scared?” Dadan asked her.

Makino let go of her breath. “Terrified.”

“You’ll do fine,” Dadan said, and this time her lack of hesitation stole whatever comeback she might have had ready, the conviction in her voice leaving her without words, looking up at her where she loomed before her, big and broad-shouldered with her feet firmly planted, like a creature the forest had released. She carried the woods with her, the smell of wild streams and frostsmoke in her curly hair, tangled with leaves. Other than her own mother, Dadan was the strongest woman Makino knew.

“I don’t know the business of pirates like Red-Hair, or Blackbeard, or Muttonchops or whatever the fuck they’re all named,” Dadan said, and Makino’s smile wavered as she continued, firmly in her rough smoker’s rasp, “But I know you, and you might say there ain’t anything you can do, but I’d place my bets on you before any of these guys.”

She wasn’t even trying to stop the tears, just allowed them to run, and didn’t care what Buggy or anyone in his crew thought.

Dadan’s expression changed then, something raw and pained in it, before it turned defiant, and, “If you see him,” she said, her voice hoarse, angry almost, but Makino preferred her anger to her grief, even as she heard the weight behind that ‘if’. “Sabo,” Dadan said, roughly. “You tell him―”

She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. Makino knew all the words one could say to someone who’d left, who you weren’t sure were alive or dead, had hoarded them for years, a veritable library of longing, the tomes well-thumbed and dog-eared and the words imprinted on her bones, _come home_ the most frequently repeated, for all that they were the hardest to live with.

She could have said all of this, but thought her face had already done it for her, from how Dadan’s hard features softened a fraction, and so, “I will,” she promised.

Dadan grunted, “And give him a lecture while you’re at it. Him and that girl of his.”

Her smile this time refused to waver, like her conviction when she said, “Oh, you can count on it.”

They stood a moment in silence, watching the crew preparing the ship. And it was the wrong crew, and the wrong ship, but she would take it, because it beat having to go back to the bar she couldn’t make herself open, and the future she couldn’t bear to wait for, afraid that she knew what it would entail, unless she did something.

On Dadan’s arm, Ace was nodding off, his eyes heavy with an imminent nap. And there was some comfort in that he was too young to have formed attachments to a place; that he could wake on a ship tomorrow, or a different sea altogether, and as long as he had faces he recognised and people who cared for him, his day would look no different.

“Think you’ll ever come back here?” Dadan asked her, looking up at the village behind them, and Party’s where it sat, like it always had, waiting on the shore.

Makino noticed that she didn’t say _home_ , but then Dadan knew her well, and that however much she loved this place, her heart had already left it a long time ago.

And she didn’t know what the Fates had in store, but for once, Makino was recklessly inclined to give them something to work with, and it was with smile that she looked towards the horizon that had for so long seemed unreachable, and said, with the weight of a promise,

“I’ll see where the sea takes me.”

―

As it was, it hadn’t taken her very far before it hit her just what she’d agreed to, about an hour after setting sail, around the same time the seasickness she’d felt stirring in her stomach finally caught up with her.

Retching into the bucket she’d been given, Makino was hard pressed to decide which was worse―the mild existential crisis, or the nausea.

“We haven’t even left East Blue,” Buggy said, observing her from across the table in the galley. And deciding he hadn’t tapped into his whole potential for unhelpfulness, added, “Just wait until we get to the New World. The waves get so big, it feels like your intestines are about to come out through your mouth.”

Pressing her lips together, it took every ounce of demure obstinacy she possessed to keep from throwing up at the mention, and lifting her head from the bucket, Makino glared at him.

“Thank you for the warning,” she ground out. Her back was drenched in a cold sweat beneath her bodice, and she had the sneaking suspicion she looked as poorly as she felt, from the concerned glances his crew were giving her. At least they kept her supplied with water, although she just kept throwing it all back up.

Buggy shifted in his seat, a little chagrined. “I’m just saying,” he mumbled. “Won’t do you any favours going in unprepared.”

“Noted.”

“There’s a reason most people give up before they get past the first island. It might look like any other sea, but trust me, it’s not. Projectile vomiting is the least you can expect.”

“Yes, _thank you_.”

He opened his mouth, but the warning look she shot him had him closing it. He was quiet for a second, before he said, “You’ve got vomit in your hair.”

Makino seriously considered tossing the contents of the bucket at him.

In an effort to talk about literally anything else, “Did they arrest any of the others?” Makino asked Mihawk, who’d reacted to her undignified display with characteristic aplomb. “The Warlords. I didn’t see anything in the paper.”

It was Buggy who answered, “Like they’d advertise that they failed to arrest us.” He looked at Mihawk, who made no comment, but whose blank expression seemed to agree, as Buggy continued, “Weevil’s a dumbass, but he’s not weak. Not that Boa Hancock is, but she's got more at stake. I don't know where the Kuja tribe lives, but if they got her there, she might not have made it. I barely got off Karai Bari.”

Mihawk didn’t offer his thoughts on either individual, but Makino wasn’t too concerned about the whereabouts of the other Warlords. There was something else she’d much rather know.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked him. “Shanks.”

The brief incline of his head was too small to be a proper nod, but the gesture was affirmative. Then, and with surprising wryness, and a glance at the bucket in her lap, he remarked, “The voyage will not be easy.”

Makino was tempted to tell him his underlying amusement wasn’t any more helpful than Buggy’s unsolicited advice, although compared to Buggy, it carried a hint of warning that had nothing to do with her sensitive stomach. But she felt no offence, as vividly aware of her inexperience as she was about said sensitive stomach, although wasn’t any less prepared to prove him wrong than Buggy.

From the slight glint in his eyes, it hadn’t missed Hawk-Eyes.

“I’ll manage,” Makino said, in prim defiance of the bucket and the world both, but then she doubted he would have gone through the trouble of bringing her if he’d thought she wouldn’t be able to handle either.

Focusing on Shanks, which helped with both, “You said he was going to do something,” Makino said. Before he’d left, he’d planned on talking to the Five Elders, but there’d been no mention of him in the newspaper from the Reverie, although she didn’t know if she would have preferred that there had been, given what had gone down at the conference.

Buggy was watching him now, although the deep furrow of his brow suggested he had an idea of what was coming, as Mihawk said, “He is currently the only thing standing between the World Government and war with the other Emperors.”

“That’s not his responsibility,” Makino said, even as she knew that didn’t matter. Selfishness was a pirate’s prerogative, but he’d always been so terribly bad at that, her husband.

“Nevertheless,” Mihawk said simply, which told her he was well aware.

Makino looked at him, and her voice was calmer than she felt when she asked him, “Why am I here?”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did all he said was, “He values your counsel.”

Makino looked at him, and then at Buggy, who’d had uncharacteristically little to say. And she felt a stirring then, which for once wasn’t bile but something else. Understanding, recognising suddenly why he’d gone to _her_ and not Shanks, followed by something that almost felt like anger, but like the quiet sea outside the portholes, its temper was short-lived, leaving a calm resolve as she loosened her grip around the vomit bucket.

Buggy was watching her, his features pensive. Then, “Sorry,” he grumbled, but where she thought it was for his comment about her seasickness, “About before,” he elaborated, to Makino’s surprise. “Was just surprised. Didn’t think he’d ever get married. And you’re too pretty for him.” His face looked suddenly red, as he looked away with a mutter of, “Y-Your loss, I mean. For marrying him.”

Her smile tilted, small and soft, but then he was, for all his abrasive bluster, growing on her. “It’s fine.” Then, “It’s been a long time, you know,” she said. “Since you were boys.”

Buggy snorted. “He’s still annoying. And he thinks he’s always right.”

Smiling, Makino didn’t disagree, but then she had a few choice words of her own for him where that was concerned.

“You knew who I was,” Buggy told her then. She thought he was trying to sound suspicious, but found something rather different in his voice when he said, “You recognised me.”

There was a question there, but she doubted he would be caught dead asking it out loud.

“He mentions you,” Makino said simply.

Buggy shifted his weight awkwardly, as though he wasn’t sure what to do with that information. And there was more to it than that, the man her husband talked about like a brother, but for all of Buggy’s outward animosity, the fact that he was even here was telling. But Makino wasn’t going to rub it in; not when they were just starting to get along.

She looked across the galley to where her son slept, snug in the crate Buggy’s crew had found, and currently under surveillance, which allowed her the freedom to retch her guts out in peace. He’d taken to seafaring better than she had, and he couldn’t even walk yet.

Buggy had followed her gaze, his eyes on the crate. He’d been a little weird about it, for all that her son had taken to him immediately.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he asked her then, for once without the pretence of not caring. Instead, he just sounded curious. “Shanks. East Blue is a long way from the New World.”

Makino didn’t need him to tell her. “It is.”

“Figured he’d want you guys with him. Oden had his kids on board, back when we were swabbies. Always thought he'd do the same if he ever had any.” He looked at the crate again, and his crew where they'd gathered around it.

Makino knew that name, and the story. And Shanks had told her knowing what it must have suggested, and wondered then if that’s what he’d really wanted. She’d been the one who’d been wary about leaving, after their son. The world had felt too big, too unpredictable, and it had been the safe choice, to stay.

But she wondered what she would have said, if he’d told her it had been what he’d wanted. Now, Makino thought she’d always known the answer, and that she would have made the same choice she had today.

A long beat had passed before she spoke. “We decided it was safer this way,” she said, although speaking the words now, she didn’t feel the same conviction she had once. “And I run a bar,” she added, although that just felt like an excuse now. “I’ve always run a bar. I don’t…really know anything else.”

“So what changed?” Buggy asked.

She thought about it. And nothing had changed, not really. The New World was still dangerous, arguably more now, and Shanks was still Emperor. She still ran a bar. None of that had changed.

But she had. And long before today, Makino thought.

She was about to answer, but wasn’t given the chance as the door to the hold swung open, admitting a woman, tall and regal and with a presence that had the whole galley shutting up.

Makino recognised her at a glance, although she’d only seen her in the newspaper, and had found her intimidating then, but it was nothing compared to seeing her in person, taking in the sharp daggers of her cheekbones and her sable hair, as sleek as the silks she was dressed in, draped from her long limbs. She was unarmed, and unadorned but for a single pair of gold snakes dangling from her ears, although when you looked like that, you probably didn’t need anything else.

She was beautiful the way a volatile sea was beautiful; a humbling, sublime sort of beauty that was equal parts awe and terror combined.

Makino felt suddenly aware of the vomit bucket in her lap, but managed to keep herself from checking her hair to see if Buggy had been right earlier.

Only Mihawk showed no surprise at her arrival, and said simply, “You are late.”

He was ignored, and her eyes swept the compartment once, a look of complete disinterest, before her gaze came to settle on Makino.

It lingered for a beat, before it dropped down to the bucket in her lap, a fleeting glance that managed to say a whole lot, before that stony gaze lifted back to hers.

Stubborn, Makino held her breath, and willed the ship to stay still, and her expression to remain cool.

_Do. Not. Vomit._

Then the Pirate Empress moved to take a seat, and didn’t address either of them as she claimed a space by an empty table, one of her long legs swung over the other, as though it might have been a throne she’d sat down on and not a bench.

A moment of complete silence passed where no one said anything.

Seated amidst three of the world’s most infamous pirates and still holding the bucket, Makino spared a half-hysterical thought to the fact that she should be mid-shift at the bar by now.

“Our esteemed employers have deemed us unnecessary,” Mihawk began, when what could only be described as a tense lull had passed. “It was only a matter of time. However, their efforts to remove us does pose something of an inconvenience.”

“You’re telling me,” Buggy said. “I can’t go home.”

“None of us can,” Boa Hancock said, the lash of her voice striking the air like a whip, and Makino saw Buggy flinch.

Mihawk appeared unfazed. “We have fought alongside each other,” he continued, with a pointed look at Hancock, “as our contracts have required, but we have never cooperated. Intentional on the part of our employers, no doubt. We were easier to manage as individuals. A lesser threat.”

The implication wasn’t missed, as her eyes shot to his. “I was just freed from that contract,” Hancock said. “What makes you think I would agree to another?”

“Is it a contract if it’s an equal alliance?”

They all looked at her, and it took Makino a full second to realise she’d spoken the words out loud.

Adjusting the bucket, she rightened her spine a bit. “I just mean that if you’re doing it for yourselves and not the World Government, it’s hardly a contract,” she said, the words directed at Hancock, who’d fixed the full force of her gaze on her. Makino thought she knew then, why they called her the Gorgon.

But she didn’t turn to stone, even as she refused to avert her gaze, although just when she was certain she was about to ask what _she_ was doing there, and what right she even had to speak in her presence, all Hancock said was, “And what of Red-Hair?”

It took another beat for Makino to realise she was addressing _her_ , still reeling from the fact that she apparently knew who she was and why she was there, but where she might have thought herself at a loss of how to even answer that, she had the most curious discovery.

“He’s not here right now,” Makino said calmly, as she adjusted her grip on the bucket of vomit.

“But I am.”

―

Her seasickness persisted, but her resolve held firm, all the way to the New World, which was every bit as vindictive as Buggy had promised, but by then she’d perfected the art of throwing up without missing a beat, which was, in terms of her otherwise limited powers, an accomplishment.

They found Red Force anchored off the shore of a remote island. Makino knew its name, like she knew the names of all the islands in his territory; had studied the maps, and knew their coordinates and their ports and the size of their populations, facts and numbers that might seem inconsequential to anyone else, but it was what they represented that mattered. The people there, whose homes would be the battleground if a war broke out.

It was a humbling thought, although more for the realisation of how privileged she’d been to not have to fully take in the magnitude of what such a war would do to the world, until she was in the middle of it. And there was nothing _she_ could do to stop the forces at play, be it by the Fates’ design or someone else’s, and yet now that she was here, she couldn’t just do _nothing_.

She didn’t realise how much she’d missed the sight of it until she saw his sails, and the shuddering breath that left her felt like it took something with it. And in that moment she could have cared less which sea they were on, feeling for the first time in months that she was exactly where she wanted to be.

The sea air was cool, but their son was warm in her arms, his soft cheek pressed against her throat. And Makino knew her face was revealing everything, but didn’t care, and whatever they thought, her companions allowed her the privacy to feel, even Buggy, who for once kept his comments to himself.

The watch saw them come aboard, apparently unconcerned by the first two arrivals, although he did a double-take at the sight of her, and nearly scrambled out of the crow’s nest as Hawk-Eyes opened the door to the galley.

It was full, and the noise washed over her with the familiar presences, the combined sensation almost too much, after so many weeks without them.

She heard as they quieted, their voices murmuring as their attention was seized by the new arrivals, although they hadn’t noticed her, standing behind her taller companions. For once, her height would actually give her an advantage.

“Hawk-Eyes,” Ben’s voice spoke, the familiar rasp finding purchase within her, before it continued, this time with more surprise, “Buggy?”

Neither returned the greeting, but moving out of the way allowed her to step forward, and Makino saw the way the whole compartment reacted at the sight of her, as the whole galley went silent.

On her hip, her son made a curious sound, his wide eyes lifted to the hundred faces staring back. Even Ben looked caught off guard, his expression more animated than she'd ever seen, which in that moment felt like it was worth the whole voyage, even the violent seasickness, and the smile she found was genuine as Makino took in their shocked expressions and asked with a calm she didn’t feel―that she _couldn’t_ feel, given what she was asking,

“Is the Captain around?”

―

The sun was sinking beyond the high windows, the New World outlined in gold thread; fitting trappings for the sea of treasure where it beckoned pirates from all over the world. The navy’s headquarters really had the prime spot in terms of views, especially at the top, but then as former Fleet Admiral, you probably had your pick of the nicer offices.

“I should probably get going,” Shanks said, considering the dregs in the bottom of his glass. In the corridors outside, the sounds of passing officers drifted by, the tail-end of a laugh reaching through the door, a curiously heartening thing, but then the world balance on the brink didn’t stop people from finding joys in small things.

From the other side of his desk, Sengoku hummed. “It would be wise. They’re not running down my doorstep anymore, but I have the occasional visitor. Doubtless, they’d find your presence concerning.”

Shanks grinned, lifting his glass. “Should really do something about the security around here. Anyone could wander in.”

He got a look for that, and dry, “Hardly, although that makes it no less concerning.”

“You could always say I showed up to assassinate you,” Shanks suggested.

“And helped yourself to my best whiskey, from my locked liquor cabinet that even the senior officers don’t know how to access?” Sengoku asked.

Grinning, Shanks finished the drink, before putting the glass down. As good as the whiskey was, he’d rather drink it elsewhere, an open hearth burning instead of the horizon, and a different sea beyond the windows, and nothing more pressing awaiting him than untying the knot of his wife’s apron.

“Thanks for lending an ear,” he said then, sincerely. “And for the report from Wano.”

Sengoku only inclined his head. Semi-retirement had left him with a lot fewer fucks to give, but then with the whole world perched on the brink of all-out war might loosen even the tightest of principles.

“And don’t listen to what the rookies are saying,” Shanks added, as he lifted from his chair. “I think the grey hair looks dignified.”

Sengoku blinked. “What are they saying?”

With an innocent smile, he turned to leave when, “Shanks,” Sengoku said, stopping him, and had it not been for the use of his name, he might have thought it was about that last comment. “More fates are hinging on your actions than you realise.”

He held his tongue from saying he was well aware. “No pressure,” he sighed, although without the glibness he might have managed under different circumstances. “I’ll try not to alert the sentries on my way out.” Then, “And I’ll keep you informed. Discreetly, so your boss doesn’t have an aneurysm.”

“The Fleet Admiral is rather on edge these days,” Sengoku agreed wryly.

“That guy came out of the womb already on edge,” Shanks said. “But he’s got good reason to be.”

“The world will not look the same,” Sengoku said. “But we can do our parts to ensure it remains standing.”

Shanks said nothing, but the words followed him out the door of his office, and it was testament to how many times he’d successfully done this that Sengoku didn’t even bat an eye, although Shanks suspected he was personally responsible for a decent portion of those grey hairs.

The Reverie had left the garrison on high alert, but he knew his way around, and skirted the officers on watch and those milling about the corridors as he made his way down the winding halls of the fortress. It was a long trek back to the ship, but he saved himself a few hours by hitching a ride on an outgoing vessel. He just needed it to bring him close enough, and he’d go the rest of the way on foot.

And it had been a good thirty years since he’d last been a stowaway, and was a great deal bigger than the skinny little bilge-rat who could have slipped between the crates in the hold, but there was no need for him to hide away in the bowels of the ship, and he passed two hours in the captain’s quarters while the crew were busy eating supper in the galley.

The division’s senior officer kept a tidy desk, although had a shameful lack of anything incriminating to peruse, aside from a curious assortment of newspaper clippings of the Straw-Hat pirates that he stumbled on by pure chance, but he wasn’t given long to consider them before he was interrupted by voices in the passage, headed for the door.

“Stop harping about it, Tashigi. We have orders not to interfere. Wano is off limits.”

“Since when do you care about orders? Smoker-san, don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

The door slammed open, and he slipped out as they entered, a man’s voice rising above a woman’s, before she responded in turn, and with an impressive note of defiance that anyone else would have dismissed as insubordinate.

Curious crew.

Walking out on deck found the navigator by the wheel, alone aside from the watch napping the crow’s nest. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon; it would be dark soon. He knew this region well, and many crews made the mistake of attempting to navigate it in the dark.

“Might want to wait until morning to proceed,” Shanks said as he walked past him, headed for the railing. “Strong currents up ahead. You’ll want to steer clear.”

“Oh, really? That’s odd, there’s nothing in my directions about that. But thanks!” Then, his head whipping around, “Wait, who―”

He was already gone, and no alarm sounded as he put the navy ship behind him, nothing but sea ahead, but Shanks knew the way with his eyes closed.

It was fully dark by the time he got back, weary from travelling and longing for his bunk. His ship lay where they’d anchored it, although to Shanks’ surprise, there were two other ships next to it. The first he recognised from a distance, but then Buggy couldn’t be subtle if he tried.

He was glad to see he’d made it out of the navy purge, but then he hadn’t really doubted him; Buggy’s ability to get out of trouble was as notorious as his ability to get into it in the first place. But Shanks was surprised he should have sought _him_ out, and wondered why. He doubted it was for protection; Buggy would eat his own hat before admitting that he needed it, but that it should be so soon after the dissolution of the Warlords couldn’t be a coincidence.

And in terms of surprises, it was an unexpectedly pleasant one, when he spent every day bracing for the worst, although entering the galley found more than one old friend waiting.

“Is this a surprise party or an intervention? Because if it’s the last one, I’m up for making it a party,” he said, taking in the crew seated among his own, before his gaze settled on Mihawk, who’d claimed a seat next to Yasopp. “Gave them the slip, huh? That’s impressive for a man your age.”

He was about to ask what they were both doing there when he did a double-take at the sight of the woman seated on the opposite end of the galley, surrounded by a group of women dressed in leathers and armour. His crew were giving them a wide berth, although he saw how their gazes had fastened on him, all of them wide-eyed save their captain, who sat as though it was her galley he’d walked into and not his own. Shanks almost had to check that he was on the right ship.

“Hello,” he said, warily.

Boa Hancock only spared him a fleeting glance, although it left her impression of him abundantly clear.

“Fair enough,” Shanks said, and then to Mihawk, who had to be the instigator of this particular assembly, although the hows and the whys still eluded him, “Is there a reason you’ve decided to host a reunion on my ship? Not that I mind, but a note in advance would have been appreciated. Had I known we were getting company I would have put on nicer pants.”

He didn’t know why they were all grinning at him. It was beginning to feel a little unnerving, and he wasn’t usually out of the loop, and so thoroughly as this. He’d only been gone since this morning.

And not to mention, “I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” he said, this time to Boa Hancock, feared on all five seas and notorious hater of men, and yet somehow in his galley, drinking his best sake. “Are you here to kill me? Because this is a really weird way to go about it.”

She didn’t even look at him. “I am not here for you,” she said, which was such a savagely calm dismissal, Shanks had nothing to counter it.

It also left him with more questions than it answered, but from her reaction to him, he wasn’t going to get anything more out of her, and so, “Right,” Shanks said. “Glad we cleared that up.”

From further down the table, Buggy was glaring at him. “What?” Shanks asked, this time with a sigh.

“Nothing,” Buggy said.

“No, I know that glare. What did I do? I’ve barely been aboard five minutes.”

“Anything new with you?” Buggy asked, with an inflection that put a weird stress on the question. "Made any life-changing decisions lately?"

“Do the pants count? Because I'm still not sure about this print. Don't know if you'd call that life-changing, though.”

Buggy's glare didn’t lessen; if anything, it only deepened, although Shanks didn't know what he'd expected him to say. "There's really nothing you want to mention? Not even a tiny little pint-sized thing?"

"Pint-sized?" There was clearly something he'd missed, but he was still trying to catch up with everything else that had happened since he’d come aboard; Buggy's issues would have to wait.

Clapping him on the shoulder, "Good to see you, Buggy," Shanks said, and had turned away before he could choke out his outrage.

He looked around the galley, packed to the brim, with two other crews on board. This really wasn’t how he’d expected this evening to go. He’d been hoping for some quiet, a moment to breathe and for his thoughts to wander, back to gentler waters and his wife’s bare skin, but it would seem the Fates had a different idea. But if nothing else, it was a distraction, although what he really needed was to sleep.

He was exhausted, but made sure his smile didn’t show it. He was the eternal optimist; it didn’t leave much room for airing his doubts, or the fact that he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. Even among his crew, who wouldn’t have thought less of him for it, it didn't feel right to lay those burdens on them. As their captain, he had to be better than that.

“I’m going to clean up a bit,” he said, as he made to cross the galley to his quarters, and didn’t know why they were all watching him expectantly. “In the meantime, please don’t foment a mutiny, because I really can’t be arsed tonight.”

“You might be too late,” Ben said, as Shanks paused.

The joke wasn’t new, but the pitch of his voice was different, although for some reason Shanks had a hard time placing it, and Ben’s expression wasn’t any more forthcoming than the Pirate Empress’.

“You know what,” Shanks sighed. “Fine. Foment away, but pour me a drink while you’re at it.”

He was almost at the door when Mihawk spoke up. “You are welcome.”

Pausing, Shanks looked over his shoulder. And if he hadn’t been so bone-tired, he might have been more intrigued by whatever scheme they were cooking up between them, but the meeting with Sengoku was still fresh in his mind, and so all he could muster was a wary, “For?”

He got no answer, only a galley full of expectant faces, although Shanks couldn’t decide what was more worrying―their eager expressions, or that they were withholding the reason, even as he couldn’t guess why.

Shaking his head, he made for his cabin. He needed one moment to himself before dealing with…whatever this was, and his quarters would be empty, and quiet.

Then he stopped, just as his heart did the same.

“Ah, damn,” Yasopp said; Shanks heard the grin that shaped the words, followed by the clink of a coin soaring through the air. “Had hoped he wouldn’t notice her until he opened the door.”

Shanks wasn’t listening, and didn’t look back to catch their reactions as he shoved through the door and out of the galley, all thoughts of war and weariness forgotten, his mind fixed on one thing, the antithesis of both, and who was somehow, inexplicably, _on his ship_.

―

She was sitting in the armchair when he entered, an untouched glass of whiskey on the chest beside her and her hands restlessly worrying her wedding band.

She’d retired to change, and had been halfway into unlacing her outer dress when she’d heard him arriving, but while she’d gone over this meeting a hundred times in her head, imagining what she’d do and what she’d say, now that she was faced with it, Makino couldn’t even uproot herself from the chair.

She hadn’t felt nervous until she’d heard his voice, but was seized by it now; the sudden realisation that she had no idea how he would even react to finding her there, and that he might not be as happy as she’d hoped.

The handle pushed down, and she saw from the deliberate action that he knew she was there, and felt her heart where it pounded against her breast, and so hard it was making it difficult to breathe, before the door opened fully.

He hadn’t changed, but then she didn’t know why she’d expected him to; it hadn’t been ten years this time, had barely been three months. His beard was a little thicker, and scruffier, like he hadn’t had time to bother with it, but he looked well. Strong and healthy, the way she’d always known him, although for all his outward vitality, there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d left her.

He stood a moment just looking at her, his handsome features hard and his expression unreadable, which didn’t help her mounting worry, like a wave where it crested into her throat, carrying the words she’d been hoarding, her whole library of longing, which was the only way she could explain what could have possibly possessed her to come here, and _now_ of all times.

But before she could say anything, “You’re a terrible stowaway,” Shanks said, his voice rough, and she heard how it broke over the words, and along with it, the dam of her worries.

She was out of the chair and had reached him in three running steps, but he needed another second to catch up, and colliding with him almost saw him taking a step back, as though even seeing her there, he hadn’t expected the embrace, from the breath that ripped from him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck; she had to lift up on her toes to reach him. And he was solid and warm, and the large and sturdy frame of his body like she remembered, and after weeks of waking to a shadow in her bed, the relief of touching him couldn’t be described. Not even seeing him for the first time in ten years had felt like this, but then she’d had time to grow used to the longing then. This time, no matter how hard she’d tried, it had resisted her attempts.

He smelled the same, sea and sandalwood and the sweat of a long day, and she breathed it in greedily, like the warmth of his skin, and no vivre card could replicate this feeling, the reassuring wholeness of another person, the sound of their blood and their breath.

His arm came around her then, carefully at first, as though he’d forgotten how to hug her, before it tightened, although still with some hesitation, like he was holding back.

A flicker of worry found her through her relief. “Shanks?”

He shook his head, his nose pressed into the hollow of her throat, the scrape of his beard and the warmth of his breath painfully real. “Sorry,” he chuckled, drawing back a bit to look at her. “Just making sure this isn’t just a really vivid dream.” Then, with a wry little smile that broke her heart, “It wouldn’t be the first time, although I don’t think I could have dreamed up this scenario.”

She saw his gaze where it went to the chest she’d repurposed, and their son within, sound asleep. And the fact that he had no words to offer said its part, but before she could ask if he was angry, his arm tightened around her, pulling her into him, and so firmly it squeezed the breath from her lungs, before her arms wound around his neck. And her tears took her by surprise, spilling over her cheeks, but then even knowing she would be seeing him, and the long evening she'd spent in the galley waiting, Makino realised suddenly that she hadn’t been prepared for actually being allowed to hug him.

She felt his hand moving up her back, skimming her shoulder blades and the back of her neck, his spine curved to reach her, and she heard his chuckle, and the telling roughness in his voice when he asked her, half-accusing, “Were you always this short?”

Her laugh held a sob. “I’ve been informed I’m not your type,” Makino said, the words spoken into his neck, and it wasn't close enough but she'd take it for now. “I just thought you should know.”

“The last time Buggy saw me try to pick up a girl, my beard looked like pubic hair,” Shanks countered, startling a wet laugh from her lips, and she felt how he responded to the sound, his voice rougher. “What does he know?”

Drawing back to look at her, his eyes roamed her face, like he still couldn’t fully believe she was there.

His fingers trailed along her loose braid, tied with her kerchief for lack of anything else to use. She’d unlaced her outer layer, leaving her thin cotton shift and her cream-coloured stays, and while not immodest in any sense of the word, it was an intimacy she didn’t share with anyone else, and she found it in his eyes where they drank her in, and the sweep of his thumb over the delicate silk laces. No pirate dressed like this, but then she’d always been an unconventional sort of pirate.

“How are you here, my girl?” Shanks asked her then, even as he must already know, having come from the galley.

Her smile was small, watching as he fiddled with the straps of her stays. “Mihawk,” she said. She’d dropped the honorific after he’d emptied her vomit bucket; it had seemed somewhat superfluous after that. “Although if you ask Buggy, he’s taking credit for it.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

There was a lot more that could be said, Makino knew, but he didn’t ask, and she thought then that he already knew why she’d come, even before she said, quietly, “He told me you’re about to do something reckless.”

Shanks expelled a laughing breath; she saw his broad shoulders where they sank, although the tension in them remained. “Told on me to my wife, huh?” Shaking his head, he took her in, and it hadn’t been that long since he’d left her, and she didn’t think she looked that different, although had to wonder now from the way his expression softened, a curious pride in it.

Then his eyes met hers, a note of challenge in them that seized her breath, and she was abruptly reminded of who she’d married; that it was no ordinary pirate whose ship she’d stolen aboard. “Are you here to talk me out of it?” Shanks asked, the naturally deep timbre of his voice carrying a pitch she hadn’t heard before, and she couldn’t tell what he thought; if it was what he expected, or feared. 

Makino only held his eyes. And looming above her like that, it was easy to see why he was feared, but she’d never been afraid of him, not on this sea or any other.

“I’m here,” she said, simply.

And it didn’t answer his question, but it did _something_ , because the tension bled from his shoulders then, and the challenge left his eyes, even as the serious press of his mouth remained, hardening his handsome features.

“Big Mom and Kaidou have formed an alliance,” Shanks said. “The navy can’t do anything, which leaves Luffy.”

“So you were going to take them on?” she asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

“He won’t be enough,” Shanks said. “Not against both of them.”

Makino held his eyes, and had found her answer in them even before she asked him, “And if he’s not enough, you think you will be?”

Shanks said nothing, but she wasn’t surprised by any of this. It was the reason she was here, after all. Not to stop him, because she might not know much about this sea and the balance of powers that kept it in check, but she recognised his position, and that he couldn’t just leave it be. That it wasn’t that simple.

No, she wasn’t there to stop him, or talk him out of it.

“You currently have three former Warlords on your ship,” Makino said, and saw from the startled smile that fleeted over his mouth that he’d known this was coming.

“Are you suggesting I form an alliance?” Shanks asked.

“I’m not suggesting,” Makino countered delicately. “I've already formed one.”

He shook his head, although she couldn’t tell if he was surprised or if this was exactly what he should have expected from her, but thought it might be a little of both.

“And there’s Luffy,” she said, holding his eyes. He looked tired, she thought. More than she’d ever seen him. “He won’t back down if you interfere.”

The sigh that left him sounded fondly suffering. “You’re probably right,” he said. “He’s too old to be rescued now.”

Her smile was small and knowing. “Are you upset?”

She saw his gaze where it went to their son, still asleep. “No,” Shanks said. “It’s the way of the world. Kids grow up.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t need help sometimes,” she said, and saw where it drew his eyes back to hers. “Or that they can’t help you, when you need it.” She paused, before she told him, “He doesn’t hold anyone in as high regard as you.”

He considered her, his thumb brushing her chin. “I don’t know,” Shanks said, his mouth slanting with a smile. “I can think of one more person." He cradled her cheek, his palm rough and warm against her skin. "So between the two of us, I’d say our offer of an alliance has a good shot at being well-received.”

Smiling, she leaned into his hand. “Wano, then?”

The smile that shaped his mouth looked in spite of himself, but the breath that gusted from him this time sounded like a genuine laugh. “Wano, then.” But, “You’re sure about this?” Shanks still asked her.

She hummed. “I hear the cherry blossoms are supposed to be beautiful.”

When he just looked at her, “I know it’s dangerous,” Makino continued. Her hands worried the front of his shirt where it hung open, feeling the rippling muscle beneath. Gods, but she’d missed touching him. “And I’m not harbouring any illusions that I’ll be going into any kind of battle, so don’t worry.” Meeting his eyes, she said, “I just want to be here.”

His smile tilted, tender and wry. “For better or worse?”

Makino only looked at him. “For you,” she said, and saw how his smile fell with surprise.

He hugged her then, pulled her close, and so roughly it had her breath hitching and her toes nearly lifting off the planks, before her arms tightened around his neck.

They stood a moment just holding each other, their foreheads touching, and she felt more than heard the heavy breath that left him. “What’s wrong?”

Shanks shook his head. “I’m just tired.”

“You can rest your eyes,” Makino said. “I have the helm.”

His chuckle was rough, but the fact that he had no clever comeback to that was more telling than his eyes where they closed, and the next breath that eased from him did so slowly, like he was allowing himself to let it go.

He kissed the top of her forehead where her hair parted, a lingering pressure as he breathed in deeply, before leaning his forehead against hers.

They swayed gently where they stood, and there was no music playing, only the faint groans of the ship and the voices from the galley, muffled through the timbers, but that was a song in itself, and one she knew intimately; a story of homecoming with a hundred different verses, and not all of them had words but they didn’t always need them. The rhythm was enough, and she listened to the familiar beat where his chest pressed against hers, slow and steady.

“I don’t think Boa Hancock likes me very much,” Shanks said then.

“She doesn’t.”

“How did Mihawk even convince her to come?”

“He didn’t,” Makino said, demure. “I did.”

His eyes slitted open, finding hers. “So is this officially a mutiny?”

Makino hummed, her hands curling around his neck. “Just a little one, until you've had a full night's sleep.”

She saw how his eyes softened, and found his gratitude in the shaking press of his lips to her hair, this verse too without words, and sung between them many times, on every meeting and parting, but it had taken her a long time to understand just what he was thanking her for. And she'd wondered at her own powers, coming here, and what she could even do in a place like this, but there was perhaps an underrated strength, to be in a rapidly changing world the one who remained utterly and unequivocally steadfast.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I may have a vague outline for a second part, set in Wano.
> 
> (don't look at me)


End file.
